


A Malfoy Mise-en-scène

by Lomonaaeren



Series: From Samhain to the Solstice [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Children, BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Twenty years after Harry’s marriage to Draco, and he’s happier than he ever thought he could be as a submissive Malfoy spouse, their troublesome adopted daughters, Lucius Malfoy’s pontificating, and all. Sequel to “A Malfoy Marriage.”





	A Malfoy Mise-en-scène

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my fics being posted between Samhain and the Solstice. It’s a sequel to a short fic I wrote last year called “A Malfoy Marriage,” written at the request of Dulzura Letal, who asked for _a sequel of 'A Malfoy marriage', 10 or 20 years later, with 2 or 3 heirs... Just a family portrait where Harry completely embraces the Malfoy name...and Draco is truly happy_. The “Mise-en- scène” of the title refers, among other things, to the way that scenery is arranged in a play.

****Harry hung his Healer’s robe up on the hook beside the door that led into their wing of the Manor, and stretched all his muscles until it felt as if his spine would pop out of his back. Then he turned his head to the side and massaged his ears. All day, shouts of “Healer Malfoy!” had echoed, until it felt as if they were clinging to his eardrums.

“Papa!”

Harry looked up with a smile. Marianne, the older of their daughters at sixteen and about to leave for her sixth year at Hogwarts starting tomorrow, stood with her arms folded and her scowl directed at him. “Whatever your father said, I’m not changing the punishment.”

“I _wasn’t_ dangling Rosalind out a window! Father thought I was, but I _wasn’t_!”

Harry let out a very faint sigh. There was every chance that that would turn out to be exactly what Marianne had been doing, but he could hardly say it right now. “Then what happened?” he asked, walking up the stairs until he could put his arm around Marianne’s shoulders.

She promptly leaned on him. Harry locked his legs and took her weight easily. She looked almost like a female version of Draco at that age, or the way Draco would have looked if he hadn’t gone into his sixth year boiling with anxiety and with the Dark Mark singing its deadly song on his arm. She was slender, pale, her blonde hair falling sleek and straight behind ears that Harry could swear sometimes came to a slight point. Her hair was the only sign left of her original heritage, and one could have put her next to her biological father and still not guessed. Blood and oath magic to bind someone to the Malfoy family really did work wonders.

“I was just trying to teach her to fly,” Marianne muttered. “It’s simple. _Why_ can’t she do it?”

“She can do it when she’s older,” said the stern voice from up the stairs. Harry looked up and let the warmth fill his eyes. Draco was walking down towards him. Twenty years of marriage had only deepened and softened the promise of warmth in his eyes. He took in the way Harry held Marianne now, and sighed as if someone was massaging the back of his neck.

“Rosalind’s only just eleven,” Draco went on, folding his arms. “You know that, Marianne. You didn’t learn until you were twelve.”

“But—”

“I want you to promise me that you won’t dangle Rosalind out a window and tell her how simple it is to fly again.” Draco’s voice lowered.

Marianne blinked. Then she sighed and said, “I won’t dangle Rosalind out a window again, Father.”

“And?”

“And tell her how to simple it is to fly again,” Marianne agreed, in a grudging voice.

Harry grinned. He was glad that he had a Slytherin spouse who would see all the little shortcuts and loopholes in Marianne’s words that he might miss. Her Sorting hadn’t been a surprise at all, but sometimes her cunning still was.

“Long day?” Draco asked as he came down the stairs, kissed Marianne on the forehead, and turned to put his own arm around Harry’s shoulders. Marianne rolled her eyes and went flying up the stairs. She always deserted them when they got “sticky,” as she put it.

“Yeah, well, you could feel that,” Harry muttered, his fingers briefly stroking the silver chain that was molded into the skin of his chest. Their mental bond through it had fluttered actively today, feeding across Harry’s impatience with his apprentice and his patients. “Dunwoodie got out of bed _five times_ today. Was I that stupid when I used to be an Auror?”

“There’s no way I can answer that diplomatically,” Draco muttered, his head bending so that his nose was right next to Harry’s neck. “Don’t make me try.”

“Right, I was,” Harry said, unaffected by the fact. There was a reason he had quit the Aurors, after all, and it wasn’t only to spend time with his family, although that had been the main reason when they first adopted Marianne. “Anyway. A regular day. And you? These two?” He flicked his head up the stairs, where a quarrel had broken out.

Draco sighed. “Rosalind is afraid of Hogwarts. She’s afraid of the Sorting Hat. I told her that it’s a hat—”

“Draco! You broke _tradition_?”

“Do be quiet. But Marianne still told her she has to be embraced by a vampire that drinks her blood, and Rosalind half-believes her. Enough to question me at length about whether I’m _sure_ that she’ll survive tomorrow, at least.”

Harry snorted and continued walking up the stairs, listening as the quarrel resolved into words. They were arguing about the window and Hogwarts and the House that Rosalind was going to be Sorted into “if she survived the vampire,” all at once. “You think Rosalind’s a shoo-in for Slytherin?”

“Stop it, stop it, _stop it_!”

Harry rolled his eyes as he peered into Rosalind’s bedroom, decorated in shades of soft rose and gold. Marianne was grinning at her younger sister, who had the same blonde hair she did, but a shade or two darker. She had more color in her face, too, and her indignantly sparkling eyes were a brilliant brown, unlike Marianne’s grey. Someone looking at her long enough might indeed come to believe that here was Dudley Dursley’s magical daughter.

 _His once,_ Harry reminded himself. Dudley would have raised Marianne and Rosalind—Mary and Rosey, then—and never mind what his parents said, but he’d lost his job and got divorced shortly after Rosalind had displayed her accidental magic, and he’d been living with Vernon and Petunia and desperately afraid that Vernon would hurt one of his magical girls “without meaning to.” Besides, he had two other children who were Squibs, and he was equally desperate to get them into good “normal” schools.

Harry and Draco had taken in Mary and Rosey, just eight and three then, and they’d become Marianne and Rosalind Malfoy a month later.

“I’m not doing it, you’re doing it. You’re letting your fear get the better of you. You know that Papa always says—”

Rosalind uttered a small scream and rushed at her sister.

Draco moved smoothly across the room and got in between their daughters before Rosalind could actually slam into Marianne. Rosalind stopped, panting, her eyes wide. Draco bent down and frowned at her, but Harry could feel his emotions through the link. Rebounding love, shimmering tenderness.

The same kinds of emotions that Harry felt so often, focused on _him_.

“I told your sister that she wasn’t to dangle you out the window again,” Draco said quietly. “And now I’m going to ask her to stop taunting you. And I’m going to ask that you not attack her.”

“But Father—”

“We’re Malfoys. _Do_ we attack other people?”

Rosalind stared at her feet. Then she looked back up and said, “No. But you swear it’s a Hat?”

“It’s a Hat,” Draco said, and kissed Rosalind’s forehead. Harry glared Marianne into silence as she opened her mouth, probably to continue her stories about the vampire. Marianne sighed and closed her mouth. “Now. I think we can manage a dinner together, don’t you? And your grandmother and grandfather and aunt and uncle are coming over for it.”

“ _All_ of them? At once?” Rosalind abruptly smiled. “I want to be there when Uncle Ron and Grandfather insult each other!”

“Then you should change your robes,” Draco said, and Rosalind rushed off to do that. He glanced at Marianne, and she did the same. Draco walked back over to Harry and leaned against him much the same way Marianne had on the stairs.

“It’s going to be so quiet tomorrow,” Draco murmured, “with _both_ of them off to Hogwarts. I’ve always had Rosalind in the house the last few years.” He glanced at Harry. “Perhaps…”

Harry kissed him softly. He could feel the way Draco’s emotions were shifting and boiling through the link. “You’re welcome to visit me in hospital, if you want. Or…well…if you wanted to adopt another one, I certainly wouldn’t object.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was about to tip over. Then his smile burst out, the brilliant one like sunlight Harry had never seen before they were married. Draco had apparently always held himself in check then, sure that the world would take Harry away from him, or the chance at happiness, if he displayed how much that happiness meant to him.

Now, he could take the back of Harry’s neck in his hands and whisper, “I’ve been dreaming about another child. If we can find one...”

“We can adopt him or her. Of course we can. I always want you to have what you want, Draco.” Harry thought about it for a second, then added, “Except an ice as your only meal at breakfast. You _know_ that’s the source of your stomach problems.”

“Funny, I thought that was having a Healer husband who _notices_ every slight twitch and burp.”

“It’s being fifty years old and eating dairy products like a child, you idiot.”

“Papa, can’t we have ices tomorrow morning for breakfast, though? _Please.”_ Rosalind had appeared in the doorway of her room again. She was always quicker to change her robes than her sister. “It’s my _last day._ ”

“We’ll have to see,” Harry said.

“Based on what?”

“Based on lots of things. Like how much of an appetite your father has after tonight.”

“Why should he have a bad appetite? You know Aerie is going to make his favorite.”

“For the company,” Harry murmured, but he laughed and was silent when Draco glared at him. Rosalind was still of the age where she might blurt out things they didn’t want her to in front of her aunt and uncle, or her grandparents.

They waited until Marianne had changed into a set of pale green robes, and then they went down the stairs together, side by side, with their daughters walking behind them. Harry heard voices coming through the Floo that meant Ron and Hermione were here, and smiled. That they were willing to visit Malfoy Manor for him...

He honestly thought that he couldn’t contain more happiness without bursting.

*

“Do you think that Father is ever going to accept a Weasley at his table?”

“Well, technically it’s our table now, not his,” Harry said comfortably, lying back in their bed and admiring the line of Draco’s chest as he took off his shirt. Draco was slightly softer around the middle than he had been when they first married. It matched the extra softness in his eyes. But he would always be beautiful to Harry. “Since he gave this wing of the Manor with the grand dining room to us.”

“You know what I mean.”

“He seemed to be doing pretty well tonight. I know Ron has stopped acting as though he’s going to call Hermione a Mudblood any second. I only counted three glares from him this evening, and Hermione—”

“She’s infinitely more gracious than my father deserves.”

“Your mother deserves it, though.” Harry had been a little surprised that, in the end, it was Narcissa who’d adapted better to his presence in Draco’s life and the fact that her grandchildren had had Muggle parents when they were born. She had warned Harry on his wedding day that she thought he wouldn’t stay the distance, since the Malfoy wedding rites had been difficult even for her to endure. But now she spoiled Marianne and Rosalind and had lunch with Harry once a week at work.

 _That reminds me. I have to tell Narcissa not to send those huge boxes of chocolates to Rosalind every weekend. I_ know _she won’t brush her teeth as much at Hogwarts as she does with us to watch over her._

“My mother has turned out far more patient than I ever thought she could be,” Draco replied, and turned around, stretching. He’d taken off his pants while Harry was thinking of his children and mother-in-law, and Harry swallowed as he caught sight of Draco’s cock rising against his stomach. Draco smiled at him. “Well, that’s gratifying.”

“I always want you, no matter what you look like or how old you are.”

“Or how burning with fever.”

Harry flushed as he remembered the time Draco had been ill enough to have gone to St. Mungo’s, and then Harry had indulged Draco’s request to make love in the hospital bed. It had turned out Draco was still infectious, and Harry had caught it. _That_ had been a humiliating round of questions to answer from his fellow Healers.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you.” Draco crossed the room and kissed the back of Harry’s neck, massaging it until Harry relaxed. “It feels like flame through the bond, did you know? When you’re embarrassed.”

“What I feel—”

“It is my business. Don’t say it isn’t.”

“I just meant to say, it’s not your _responsibility_.” Harry leaned up and kissed Draco almost desperately, leaning against him as Draco’s hands clenched on his shoulders. “God, come to bed and make me come.”

“Bossy,” Draco said, a faint smile on his face as he undressed Harry. Harry arched his back and sighed. As always, Draco left his wedding ring on, along with the collars around Harry’s neck that sustained their emotional bond and acted as an emergency Portkey if Harry’s adrenaline rose too high. Harry hadn’t removed them in twenty years.

Draco’s eyes caught fire as he looked at them, and when he spoke again, it was with a tone that Harry obeyed in shivering gladness. “On your knees.”

Harry turned around, sliding the pillow beneath his knees that Draco had started insisting they use a few years ago. Draco’s hands rose from behind him and traced the links of the silver chain embedded in Harry’s skin. Then Draco lowered his head and began to kiss down the softer links of Harry’s spine.

Harry was a begging mess by the time Draco decided he was finished and reached for the lube, but he didn’t care. All the years seemed to melt away, and it was their wedding night again. Draco’s exclamations were soft and low and full of love as he slid his fingers into Harry and Harry pushed backwards impatiently.

Draco hesitated a moment, then did something he rarely did, and took hold of the collars like a harness as he slid into Harry.

Harry arched up against him, harshly enough that Draco grunted in shock and his chin bounced off Harry’s skull. Harry didn’t care. “ _More_ ,” he said, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until Draco was all the way inside him more because of Harry’s actions than because Draco had thrust.

“You like being halfway choked?”

“I like you holding onto me. I _love_ being yours.”

Draco grunted again, and this time his hands twisted the loose jade collar so it didn’t choke Harry but did press against his skin. “Mine.”

“Merlin, believe it.”

Every time they moved together was burning, brilliant, even when they were both tired or hungry or they’d fought. Harry still trusted Draco with all his being. Draco trusted him. They moved together and they knew the moment when they would come, and it was as hot as the sharp tug of the jade collar against Harry’s throat.

Harry collapsed when he was done, face down into the bed, and Draco let go of the collar long before it could strangle him, even though he remained sitting up for a few seconds, riding his own high. Then he crashed into the bed on top of Harry, shaking and blown.

 _More than he was ten years ago._ But if had nothing had ever changed, then Harry wouldn’t have bonded with Draco, they wouldn’t have their children, he might still be an Auror with no one to love. Change was bound with that, part of that.

“What House do you think Rosalind is going to be in?” Draco whispered, continuing a conversation they’d been having off and on for the last year.

Harry laughed into the pillow. “I think we’re just going to have to wait to find out.”

“She’s cunning enough for Slytherin...”

Harry let the words wash over him, because this was one of the things that didn’t change, and didn’t remember the replies he made the next morning.

*

As it turned out, Rosalind’s owl Hellas flew a touch faster than Marianne’s owl, Snow White.

“Gryffindor?” Draco stared at the letter long enough, having snatched it from Harry’s hands, that Harry finally had to roll his eyes and take it away.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Why are you so surprised?”

“There’s never been a Malfoy in Gryffindor!”

“And there probably weren’t Muggleborn children adopted as Malfoys before this, either. Were there?”

Draco sniffed. “I’ll have you know that some of my ancestors were right proper hypocrites about blood purity. I know at least a few Malfoys were born to other names. Why do you think the rites to bind Marianne and Rosalind to the family exist in the first place?” Then his eyes went back to the letter, and he blinked again. “But _really,_ there has _never_ been a Malfoy in Gryffindor.”

“Blame your Slytherin daughter,” Harry suggested, reading the rest of the letter. “She kept trying to tell Rosalind she’d have to pass some dangerous test, and Rosalind half-believed her until she saw the Hat. So she was congratulating herself for her courage in coming to Hogwarts at all, and she thinks that’s what the Hat noticed in her and focused on.”

“If she’s smart enough to figure that out, she should be in Ravenclaw.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Draco, are you disappointed?”

Draco gave him an absurdly startled glance. “Of _course_ not. I love you and the girls no matter what. I’ll learn to take a Gryffindor to my heart the way I already have one.”

Harry leaned up to kiss him. “And maybe another one in a while?” he murmured.

“Did your cousin have _another_ magical child?”

“No. I don’t know where we’d find them. I was just—thinking.”

“What you want, you’ll have.”

And that was Draco’s promise, always, that unshakable love that had allowed Harry to marry Draco and invite his friends over to Malfoy Manor and eat lunch with his mother-in-law and raise two Muggleborn children.

That, in the end, was what he loved most.

**The End.**


End file.
